


i think that it's best if we both stay

by mouthymandalorian



Series: reputation [4]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Smut, Soft Javi needs a warning, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthymandalorian/pseuds/mouthymandalorian
Summary: after seemingly catching javi in the arms of another woman, you’re sure it’s all over. javi is nothing if not tenacious. and also, in love. with you.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Series: reputation [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154576
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	i think that it's best if we both stay

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](https://mouthymandalorian.tumblr.com)
> 
> final installment! this one is much kinder, i promise.

Javier is lost without you. 

He thinks about you every second of every day. You told him to leave, told him you were done. He listened. Javi _wants_ to send you flowers, _wants_ to apologize, _wants_ to make some big, grand gesture. He can’t. 

It’s over. You told him it’s over. 

The pain that wells inside his chest is deeper than your tearful eyes; the ones he’d fall into after long, horrifying days. It’s an ache that he’s never let himself love hard enough to know.

It’s his own damn fault.

Javi tries turning to the only thing he knows will help—whiskey and meaningless sex. The whiskey helps some. The girl he hires? She does not. Sofia is her name. She’s lovely. 

She’s not you.

At first he lets her kiss him, but your face swims in his vision. He thinks about the day he took you on a picnic at the botanical gardens. You squealed in surprised delight, told him he was a wonderful man. 

No one has ever told him he was a wonderful man. 

He turns the lights all the way off because he can’t look at her. And it turns out, he can’t do it at all. All he hears, sees, smells is you. You’re everywhere. The guilt is overwhelming.

Sofia notices. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, leaning back. He sits up in bed and lights a cigarette. You told him once that prostitutes were some of the bravest people stuck in the crosshairs of this war. 

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks her. Sofia’s smile is pretty and sad, lit only by the glowing embers of his cigarette. She draws her legs to her chest.  
“Who is she?” she asks.

He tells her your name. He tells her all about you. Tells her he never told you he loved you. He tells her about not meeting your parents. Pushing you away because he was afraid you’d get hurt. He tells her about the way he stood outside the door of your apartment and listened to you cry for an hour the night you kicked him out. 

Javi also tells her you saved him again and again. You held him in your arms when he couldn’t handle it anymore. You said nothing; you gave him space; you cared for him when he showed up, broken and bruised. 

“What are you doing here with me then?” Sofia asks.  
“She left me,” he says.  
“She should have,” she confirms. 

He can’t argue. 

“You love her a lot, don’t you?” she asks.   
“Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t think I could. Anymore. After everything,” he says.   
“You should go get her.”  
“She won’t have me,” he says, and Sofia looks at him.   
“Honey, have you tried? Did you even try to fight for her?”   
“I left her alone. She wanted me to leave her alone,” he says.

Sofia just shrugs and shakes her head, smiling.

“Just saying… if a man like you chased me down? You’re so hung up on her you won’t let a girl like me touch you? You seem like a good man, Javier,” she says. Javi regards her for a minute. 

“She’d like you,” he says.  
“I don’t know about that,” Sofia says, laughing, “But go get her. I mean it. Stop wasting time with me.” 

Javi walks her to the door, feeling better than he has in a few days. 

He walks Sofia out and hands her some cash.

“For what?” she asks.  
“Your time,” he says. She leans up to kiss him on the cheek, but he moves back.   
“I—”  
“It’s okay, Javier, doesn’t hurt me one bit,” Sofia says.

It’s then that he hears something clatter to the ground. The sound raises his hackles and his hand goes to hip—where there is no gun. 

Shit.

But it’s fine; there’s no threat.

Just you. 

You stand next to your car looking heartbroken all over again, hand still clenched around keys that now lay on the asphalt. Sofia realizes what’s happening and steps aside. Her face is full of pity. 

He tries to explain, and you’ll have none of it. He knows what it looks like. It’s _almost_ exactly what you think it is. His pleas go unheard, and it’s then that you tell him you love him in a sad, small voice. 

Ruined everything. That’s what he’s done. 

You saved him and to return the favor, he broke your heart. 

Javi watches you round the corner and feels like his knees might buckle before he gets back to his apartment. He gets his keys and shoes and speeds to your place. 

Sofia wasn’t wrong. He needs to fight for you. 

* * *

A hesitant tap on your front door brings you out of your pitiful stupor. You’ve been sitting on your floor staring with an old shirt of his held to your face. It smells like him. 

He used to kiss your arms and hands and tickle you until you couldn’t breathe. You miss his laugh. 

The tap becomes more insistent. You pad quietly to the door and look out of the peephole. It’s Javi, of course; who else would it be?

“Go _away_ , Javier,” you say through the door.  
“ _Querida_ , listen to me, please,” he says. 

It won’t kill you to listen to him, you guess.

“Well, go on,” you say after a pause.  
“Will you… will you let me in?”

Silence.

You unlock the door and let him in. Your apartment is a mess. The only energy you’ve had for the last week went to crying and worrying about him. There are empty wine bottles strewn around the living room and dishes piled in the sink. You’re naturally pretty messy, but you never let outright garbage pile up. 

“Baby…” he says, looking around. His voice is low and soothing, and he steps toward you. It’s so late, and you’re so tired, and you miss him so much. It’s taking everything inside of you to remain upright, arms crossed over your chest, looking at him expectantly. 

“You wanted to explain. Explain,” you say.

He doesn’t explain, though. Instead, he moves wordlessly around your apartment, picking up the empty bottles and takeout containers. He folds the blanket, puts away your dirty clothes, and clutches that shirt of his still wet with your tears.

All you can do is watch.

The silence is surprisingly comfortable. You’re still upset with him, but when he starts doing the week-old dishes, you let yourself sit down on the couch, unfold the blanket, and wrap yourself in it. Your head throbs from tears and lack of sleep.

Javier is usually the rabbit to your tortoise. You are slower and more deliberate in your actions. He always ends up tripping over himself. Tonight, though, he pays careful attention to each movement. He cleans your kitchen like he has something to prove. 

You curl up and watch him. You missed looking at him. How lovely he is. His brow knits together in determination and he holds his tongue between his teeth while tackling a particularly stubborn mac and cheese stain.

Neither of you breaks the silence in the apartment. Your eyelids get heavy, and you wonder if this is just a dream. Maybe you’re hallucinating, and none of this is actually happening. You’ll wake up in the morning with a crick in your neck and a dirty apartment and a shattered, angry heart.

At some point, you drift off. When you open your eyes again, there’s no sign of Javier. You feel the disappointment bubble in your throat, but you push it back down. It was a lovely dream, at least. 

“ _Querida_ ,” Javi whispers, and you look to your left. He’s there.

“Let me put you in bed,” he says. Your exhaustion has set into your bones and if it hadn’t, you’d have told him you can put yourself in bed just fine. Instead, you let him cradle you in his arms and carry to your bed, which has been neatly made. 

“I’m...going to stay, if that’s okay. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, kissing your forehead. 

“Stay with me,” you say. It slips out. You fought it, but it slips out and you can’t take it back because you want it so much. Javi says nothing. There's a rustle of fabric as he sheds his clothing, and he moves between the sheets next to you. He keeps a respectful distance, but you ache for him. 

You slip your fingers between his and pull yourself close to him, nestling your face into his neck and breathing him in. It feels right. You’d missed him so much. 

You still need to know.

“Why?” you ask. 

“I’m an idiot,” he whispers, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I should have come to you instead of pushing you away. I should have met your parents. I should have told you I love you. I love you so fucking much it scares me.”

You drink in his sweet words, tears settling on your lashes.

“Who was she?” you ask, afraid; _terrified_ of the answer.   
“She was no one. I… I thought we were over, baby. I wanted to forget. I couldn’t. All I saw was you. She… she told me to fight for you,” he says, sounding sheepish. A small smile plays on your lips. 

  
“So you’re gonna fight for me?” 

“I have so much to make up for, _querida_. You have no reason to trust me. But I will do anything to prove that I mean it,” he murmurs. He places his thumb and forefinger on your chin and tugs your face to look at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. You lean up to meet his lips, and it reminds you of the first night you were with him. When he kissed you so softly, you forgot your question. You missed his lips so much. Warmth spreads into your cheeks when you realize you’re aroused. You let out a small moan, and the calloused hand cradling your arm clinches involuntarily. 

You draw back and look at him.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” you say, “But I think you’re a good man, Javi. You’re a good, kind, _stupid_ man. I just need to know that you won’t keep pushing me away. And that you will _never_ suggest that I’m just the girl who brings you coffee ever again.”

He blanches.

“I can’t fucking believe I said that,” he says. “It was such a shitty thing to say. I’ve never thought that. I’ve always respected you. Please, baby, let me prove myself. Let me.”

You wonder if you’re making a huge mistake.

“Okay. But I’m done trying to fix you. I’m done trying to glue you back together. You need to get your shit—”  
“I do, I am. I want to. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to come back to. I want to meet your parents and your siblings and I want to spend Christmas with you and them, and I want—”  
“Do you promise?”  
“I do. Please. Let me take care of you. I can’t promise my job won’t get hard or stressful, but I swear to you I will never take it out on you again,” he says. He’s breathing heavily now. Nervous.  
“Okay. Let’s… try again,” you say. You feel him shaking a little, and at first you think he’s laughing—but no. He’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I don’t mean—”  
“It’s fine. I’ve been crying all week. The bed would have been confused if someone wasn’t crying in it.”

He snorts a little, but tears fall down his lovely cheeks, and you wipe them off.

“It’s okay to feel, Javi. If you let me, I can help you. I can be there. But you have to let me.”

Javier buries his face into your neck and lets himself cry, and you press kisses into the top of his head.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he says. “I’d never been so scared of anything. I’ve had guns held to my head and I never felt that scared.”  
“Well, I’m right here. Let’s get some sleep, baby. It’s okay, we’re here, we’re together,” you murmur, your eyelids drooping. He drapes himself around your body and clings to you like it’s the last time he ever will. 

* * *

You wake up the next morning with no heavy pain in your heart. Javier’s face looms over you, watching you. 

“Good morning,” you say.  
“I love you,” he says. Your breath catches in your throat.  
“I should have told you every day for the last year. I should have told you every second. It was wrong of me not to,” he says and presses his lips to yours.  
“I love you, too,” you say into his mouth. “So much.”

The two of you kiss and kiss, and you can’t stop yourself. You feel slick gathering between your legs and you let out a moan, more insistent than last night’s. Your body has missed his so much.

He opens his eyes and searches your face for permission. 

“Please,” you whimper. You grab for him, any part of him.  
“Let me,” he says. 

He’s never soft with you when you have sex. He’s all teeth and sharp edges and hair pulling, and it’s _wonderful_. But this is different. 

He pulls your t-shirt off over your head and cups the underside of your breast, massaging them gently, bringing his lips to your nipples, moving seamlessly back and forth between the two. His movements are slow, deliberate, lips wrapped around your tits; sucking and licking, biting gently. 

Javi moves down your belly. He’s firmer here—you’re ticklish—and he digs his fingers into your soft flesh, kissing around your bellybutton. Down. Down. Down. 

He makes his way to your panties and pauses. 

“Baby,” he says, weakly. 

You’re whimpering in earnest now, you missed his hands and tongue so much, you can’t keep yourself quiet. Your cunt is aching and you know your panties are wet enough to where he can see it. 

Javier places one finger over the growing wet spot on your panties and rubs little circles. 

“So wet for me,” he coos, “such a good girl. So good for me. We can make that little pussy wetter, can’t we? Yeah, we can,” he says, as you buck up in his hands at his words.

“Javi…” 

“Did you miss me, baby girl? Did you?” he asks. You cry out something, you think it’s yes, but you can’t be sure. He’s so much slower than usual. Your cunt throbs and you can feel more of your slick leak out. 

“Look at you, _querida_ , look at you.”

He dips his fingers into your panties and moves them along your wet folds, and pulls them out to taste you. You almost convulse from the touch. 

“Roll over,” he says.  
“Hm?” you ask.  
“Roll over and put your little ass in the air. I want to see you.” 

So you do. You present a wet, dripping pussy to him, feeling exposed and excited. He reaches up to massage your tits, and you're so aroused you think you might come right then and there. He notices how worked up you are from how much you’re wiggling.

“Shh, not yet, baby, not yet,” he says. “Need to make you feel as good as possible first. Let me make you feel that good. Trust me?”  
“Yes, please, please,” you say. You’re aware of how desperate you sound. You don’t care. There’s no one else here. It’s only you and him and the rest of the world could be falling apart for all you care. 

Javi’s movements are lazy, slow, working your clit with his finger first, then replacing it with his thick tongue. Your juices are nectar to him, he laps it up like the sweetest wine, and moans into your pussy. The sound of his hand moving over his own cock causes a shock to run through your body, and you want to see him, but he won’t let you. 

“Don’t worry about me, _querida_ ,” he says. “Tell me if this is too much, okay?”  
“Okay,” you whimper into the mattress. 

His thumb travels from your ass cheeks further in. 

_Oh_.

The noise that comes out of you when it finds your other hole is filthy.

“Mm?” he says.  
“More,” you beg.

Javi rubs around it, but avoids going in. Your nerve endings are on fire and you’re squirming in pleasure. 

And then you feel something warm and wet in the same place and you think you’ll pass out. An expert tongue swirls around with rhythm and softness.

“Oh, god,” you cry out. He brings a hand up and rubs your ass soothingly. Another hand slips two thick fingers into you and hooks in, finding your g-spot. 

“Javi...Javi, I’m gonna, I’m gonna—”   
“What, baby, what are you gonna do?” he asks, murmuring into you, his voice is sweet, soft, soothing, trying to draw something out of you. 

You moan loudly and back into his fingers, moving back and forth to fuck yourself.

“Yeah, baby girl, fuck yourself on my fingers,” he says. 

That large hand comes down and slaps your ass, hard, and it sends you over. You _throb_ around him. It’s the hardest you’ve ever come, and it seems like it goes on for ages. Behind you, you hear him muttering obscene things, talking about how hard he’s going to fuck you, begging you to keep coming in his hands. 

“Goddammit, baby, fuck, is that all you?”

Once you calm down and your breathing evens out, he pulls you upward and leans against your back. You see a wet spot on the sheets from your orgasm.

“You… there’s so much of you,” he says, breathlessly. “How do you want me?”   
“Side… I need to be close to you,” you say, shyly. He kisses you and you taste every bit of yourself. You didn’t think you would like it so much. 

Javier slides next to you and wraps your leg around his, pulling you close to him and puts the blunt head of his cock on your entrance. There’s no resistance, no stretch—you’re just too relaxed. You feel him, though, and he’s as hard as ever. 

“Put your hand around my throat, Javi,” you beg. You need something to ground you. He growls and does exactly what’s asked of him.   
“You feel so—so g-good,” he says, “I can’t stop, I want to fuck you forever, love my hand around your throat—” 

Javi is a passionate lover, that’s not a secret, but this morning he’s fucking you like he’s apologizing; like he’s making up for something; like he wants you to know that he means what he says. His _body_ is begging you to believe him. You feel another wave of release crash down on and you _yell_ his name, not bothering to keep yourself quiet.

You wonder if you should have let him make love to you, but that was never really your thing, and it’s never been his. His hand around your throat, still slick with your juices, his cock slamming into you a million miles an hour—that was yours. That was his. 

“I’m—I’m—” he tries to warn you, but it’s too fast. 

“IloveyouIloveIloveyouILOVEyou,” he says. He’s let your throat go, he’s kissing the bruises and marks left by his hand. You keep your legs wrapped tight around him. 

“I love you,” he says again, and his eyes plead with you to believe him.   
“I know, baby, I know. I love you, too,” you say. He keeps his body as close to you as he can. His breathing slows and your eyes get heavy again.   
“Sleep, _querida_ ,” he says. 

* * *

Some hours later, you wake up, and the smell of bacon hits your nose. You realize you’re starving. Your diet has comprised ramen and mac and cheese for the last week.

You don’t even _have_ bacon. 

You move into the kitchen and see Javi making breakfast. Walking up behind him, you wrap your arms around his narrow waist.

“Hi, my love,” you say.  
“ _Mi amor_ ,” he says back, whirling around to catch your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart flutters at the new nickname. “I made breakfast.”

His eyes sparkle at you, and you smile.

“It smells amazing. I haven’t eaten much of anything this week,” you say. He frowns. “No—I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know you weren’t, but you should. I deserve it,” he sighs. 

You sit across from him at your little kitchen table and gobble down everything from the bacon to the orange juice.

“Did you go shopping?” you ask. “Because I didn’t have any of this.”

“I did,” he says.   
“You didn’t have to—”  
“I _did_.”

You smile at him and chew thoughtfully.

“Javi,” you ask slowly, “How is this going to work?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Sometimes you have to leave without warning, and that’s fine, but how are—how are you going to make changes when that’s just part of the job?”  
“I’m...working on that. But I am going to be sure that you’re never spending a moment thinking I’m dead, okay?”   
“And… my parents?”  
“When’s the next time they’re here?”  
“Easter.”  
“Then I’ll meet them then.”  
“Your parents?”  
“You wanna go to the next quinceanera and just meet everyone at once?” 

You laugh.

“Maybe,” you say. “I think I still want to transfer departments, Javi. I don’t want to hide us anymore.”  
“I don’t want to hide anymore either, _mi amor_. And I don’t want you to have a reputation you don’t deserve.”

Your heart is going to burst out of your chest if he keeps calling you that. 

After breakfast, the two of you settle on the couch and he wraps you up in himself. 

“Mine,” he says.   
“Yours,” you say. 


End file.
